


Room 1832

by Taye



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Demons, Ghosts, Halloween, Horror, I'm really sorry in advance for this one, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Only the paranormal kind but still, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taye/pseuds/Taye
Summary: Enjolras and his new roommate Grantaire are assigned to live next to what is colloquially known as 'The Suicide Room'.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween. Based (very heavily) on /r/NoSleep's 'Room 733'.

The first thing Enjolras learned about Grantaire was that he had a fear of heights.

  
Enjolras had just arrived on his first day of freshman college year when he almost ran into a boy in a green hoodie standing outside of his dorm building, mumbling under his breath.  
  
“Shit, that's a long way up,” he said, running a hand through his dark head of curls and staring up at the dorm building.  
  
Enjolras stopped and regarded him for a moment.“Are you okay?”  
  
The boy looked at Enjolras and seemed to freeze for a minute, mouth slightly ajar, before replying, “ah—yeah, no, I'm good. It's just my room's on the 8th floor, which doesn't really go well with my fear of heights. Well, technically it's a fear of depth I suppose. I'm fine with tall things, just as long as I'm not _on_ them. Because if I'm not on them I can't fall off of them. So I guess what I _really_ have is a fear of falling? I— ah, sorry, I'm rambling.”  
  
Enjolras frowned. “Wouldn't you have received your room assignment before today?”  
  
The wild-haired boy signed dramatically, “Yeah, I suppose on some level I knew, but denial has always been a talent of mine. On that note—” he turned to Enjolras and offered his hand, “hi, I'm Grantaire.”  
  
Enjolras felt the corners of lips tug. “Enjolras,” he said, taking his hand.  
  
“Nice and simple,” Grantaire said with a crooked grin, which made Enjolras want to roll his eyes. “So, what about you?”  
  
“I'm on the 8th floor as well. Room 1831,” replied Enjolras, shifting the weight of his bag on his shoulder.  
  
Grantaire barked out a laugh. “I guess my luck isn't so bad after all.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“I guess I'll reintroduce myself, Blondie. I'm Grantaire, you're new roommate.” Grantaire's half-grin had turned into a full-blown smile.  
  
Enjolras hated the nickname, but he really liked the smile.  
  
Grantaire and Enjolras spent most of the morning moving in and getting to know each other. It took all of five minutes for Enjolras to discover how smart Grantaire was.  
  
And it took six for Enjolras to discover that that intelligence was buried under several layers of cynicism and bullshit.  
  
Grantaire had a sharp tongue and loved to argue. He rolled his eyes when Enjolras told him of his political science major, and actually scoffed when he put away his copies of the Communist Manifesto and Capital (although Grantaire himself owned a suspicious amount of Orwell). From the half morning they spent together, Enjolras could tell they had very different views of the world. However, the sincerity in his eyes and the softness of his smile had Enjolras convinced that Grantaire had a good heart. He also had an impressive vinyl collection, was an extremely talented artist (although apparently you couldn't tell _him_ that), and, if Enjolras was being honest, he had a hard time tearing his gaze from his new roommate's piercing blue eyes.  
  
That could potentially be a problem.  
  
They had finally settled down when there was a knock the door and a guy in a muscle shirt and a backwards baseball cap walked in. "Hey dudes, I'm Théodule, your Resident Advisor,” he said.  
  
“Hi,” said Enjolras, bracing himself internally.  
  
Théodule picked up a drawing of Cthulhu that was on Grantaire's desk. He turned it sideways, studying it."Cool, is this the kraken from Pirates of the Caribbean?"  
  
Grantaire glared at him over the top of the book he was reading.  
  
"So anyway,” the RA continued, “I'm meant to tell you to go easy on the power points and stuff in this room. They added a few rooms to this floor a couple of years back, but they haven't upgraded anything in this one and the building is almost 60 years old."  
  
"Yes, I can see that." Enjolras said looking around. "The rooms are pretty small."  
  
"Well, people were smaller in the 50s." Théodule shrugged.  
  
"Really." Grantaire said flatly.  
  
"Yeah dude." Théodule crossed his arms and just continued to stand there while the room filled with awkward silence.  
  
"So," Enjolras said, "the corner room next to us— 1832? It looks a lot bigger than our room. If nobody's assigned to it maybe we can—"  
  
"Oh, that's The Suicide Room. Yeah, don't want to move in there.” Théodule interrupted distractedly, returning his attention to Grantaire's picture. "There were a couple of deaths. A hanging and a jumper I think. They’re not assigning anyone to that room anymore, it just for storage now. Anyway, I'm supposed to remind you that this is an all-boy floor and girls are not allowed up here after 11."  
  
Enjolras hid a smirk— _that_ wouldn’t be a problem. He looked over to see a similar expression on Grantaire’s face, which was— well.  
  
Théodule set Grantaire's drawing back down and with a “later dudes”, moved onto the next room.  
  
Grantaire dropped his book on the bed and stared out into the hall. "I hate him."  
  
Enjolras' mind was still elsewhere. "Did you know anything about that?"  
  
"I'm going to call him Théo _dude_ ,” Grantaire said with a pleased smirk.  
  
"Grantaire, seriously. 'The Suicide Room'?"  
  
"Blondie, relax,” Grantaire replied, picking up his book again. “It sucks, yeah, but all colleges have few suicide stories. That's just how life goes, y'know?”  
  
"Yeah, but in the same room?" Enjolras pushed.  
  
Grantaire sighed. "It's not _our_ room."  
  
"Yeah, I guess,” Enjolras said, looking at their window. “We’re 8 stories high. You'd be alive for at least five seconds before you hit the ground."  
  
Grantaire glanced at the window and shuddered violently. “Please _, please_ stop talking.”  
  
"We could always move next door," Enjolras teased, "That one has a window on each wall."  
  
"Oh, fuck you,” Grantaire said, looking like he was fighting a smile.  
  
“It would take a lot of commitment to squeeze out of that tiny window,” said Enjolras, studying it.  
  
"Yeah, well, people were smaller back then, remember?" Grantaire muttered sarcastically as he pushed his bed further away from the window.

 

* * *

 

Even though he was only a freshman himself, Grantaire seemed to know _everyone_ by the end of the first week. It was through him Enjolras met Courfeyrac and Combeferre, two people Enjolras was sure he was going to stay friends with for a very long time. It wasn't until a few weeks into their friendship that Enjolras noticed that they both had qualities they shared with Grantaire; Courfeyrac was outgoing and sociable, and Combeferre was sharp and perspicacious. They were very different people of course— Courfeyrac had a passion for life that Grantaire entirely lacked, and Combeferre was much less pessimistic about humanity— but he was reminded of Grantaire when he was with them. Everywhere he went, really.  
  
Although maybe that was due to the fact that Enjolras' thought about him constantly.  
  
After about a month on campus the novelty of college started wearing off. Enjolras found his stride and spent more weekends studying than not. He was determined to maintain a 4.0 GPA throughout his freshman year, while it seemed Grantaire was determined to maintain a 4.0 BAL.  
  
Not that Enjolras judged him for that— they were in college after all. Enjolras just wished he wouldn't bring it back to their room quite so much. It was...distracting, to say the least. He had trouble enough with his emotions around sober, slightly guarded Grantaire. Tipsy Grantaire, on the other hand, was _dangerous_.  
  
One night he came in extremely late with partially glassy eyes and a devilish grin. Enjolras, who had almost been asleep, was about to greet him when he flopped into bed. Next to Enjolras.  
  
Their arms brushed, and the feeling of Grantaire's bare skin on his made Enjolras' breath catch in his throat. “Wrong bed,” he said after a beat. His voice sounded off, even to his own ears.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Grantaire—”  
  
“Just let me stay like this for a minute, Blondie.” His bed _definitely_ wasn't big enough for two people, and Enjolras was sure that Grantaire would be able to hear his heart pounding through his chest.  
  
Enjolras let out a fake long-suffering sigh then focused on trying to swallow his saliva like a normal person.  
  
A moment passed and he felt Grantaire shift slightly beside him. “I'm sorry you had to get stuck with a fuck up like me when you're, well,” Grantaire motioned his hand vaguely in Enjolras' direction.  
  
Enjolras froze, not knowing what to say. Surely Grantaire knew just how much Enjolras liked him?  
  
Eventually Enjolras shook his head.“I'm glad we're roommates,” he said earnestly. He meant it, even if it did feel like his heart was going to give out every time Grantaire was around.  
  
When Grantaire didn't respond, Enjolras turned to face him and was met with a thousand-watt smile, like the one he had seen on their first day. It was a rare look for Grantaire, and it made his heart skip a beat to know that it was something that _he_ had made happen.  
  
“Me too,” replied Grantaire. Enjolras couldn't tear his eyes away, and they stared at each other for a few long-stretching moments. Suddenly there was a shift in the air, and Grantaire's eyes went dark. He pulled his face closer to Enjolras, so close that their lips were almost touching, and then stopped. There was a fleeting moment when Enjolras thought he was going to close the distance.  
  
Enjolras was still thinking about the slither of air like a glass wall between them when Grantaire sat up abruptly, winked, and returned to his own bed.  
  
“Sleep tight, Enjolras,” he purred from the other side of the room.  
  
Enjolras let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. _Like that's going to happen._

 

* * *

 

One night in early October Enjolras was woken up by a loud, grinding sound. He sat up in bed and strained to hear it again. Thinking he had dreamt it, he was surprised to look over and see Grantaire wide awake and listening as well.  
  
_SLAM_  
  
_What the fuck?_ Grantaire mouthed, Enjolras shrugged back at him.  
  
It wasn't unusual for there to be noise in the hallways since other people came in at all hours of the night. But this sound had definitely come from next door— room 1832.  
  
_GRIND_  
  
It sounded like a window being opened. "Is that—"  
  
"Yeah," Grantaire whispered, voice still scratchy from sleep. Enjolras tried not to let that affect him. "That's the window next door."  
  
At Grantaire's insistence, they kept their window closed at all times. However, there was no mistaking the sound of the window in room 1832 being opened and closed again at regular intervals.  
  
_SLAM_  
  
"Who's in there?" Enjolras whispered back.  
  
Grantaire shrugged.  
  
"Is someone messing with us?” Enjolras asked. “Is this like, an initiation?"  
  
Grantaire raised his eyebrow at him. "Initiation to what?"  
  
"I don't know,” Enjolras admitted, feeling his face heat. “Don't people do things like that in college? Hazing the freshman?"  
  
_GRIND_ (it opened)  
  
"Who is hazing freshman?" Grantaire asked, trying not to laugh.  
  
Enjolras turned away to hide the blush he knew was on his face.  
  
_SLAM_ (it shut)  
  
He could hear the smile in Grantaire's voice as he said, "Blondie, you’re a smart kid, but that was fucking stupid."  
  
Enjolras threw a pillow at him. "Well, whoever it is, go tell them to knock it off."  
  
"Me? I'm not risking being thrown out a window,” said Grantaire, throwing the pillow back. "I'm an art major. You're a political science major. _You_ go lay down the law."  
  
_GRIND_  
  
Enjolras rolled his eyes and lay back down on his bed. He didn't want to deal with idiots playing pranks in the middle of the night.  
  
Grantaire seemed to get that. “Call Théo _dude_. Isn't this the kind of shit he should deal with?"  
  
_SLAM_  
  
“Unless there's beer on a ping pong table I doubt he would care,” huffed Enjolras.  
  
"Fine," Grantaire whispered loudly, "then we'll just have to ignore it."  
  
"I have class at 7:30!" Enjolras complained.  
  
_GRIND_  
  
"Then do something!"  
  
"Ugh!" Enjolras said with feeling. He got out of bed and stomped to the door, threw it open dramatically and went down the hall to pound on the door to room 1832, which simply said 'Supply Room'.  
  
"People are trying to sleep, please stop." Enjolras said to the door when there was no answer.  
  
_SLAM_  
  
"Seriously..." he sighed.  
  
Enjolras stepped back from the door and immediately noticed a problem. Room 1832 was padlocked shut. From the outside. Any lingering good humour he felt from talking with Grantaire was suddenly gone, and he hurried back to his room.  
  
"What happened?" Grantaire asked.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere near that room again. It's locked from the outside; I don't know how anybody could get in there,” Enjolras said, getting back into bed.  
  
"So, you’re saying it's a spooky ghost?" Grantaire teased, eyes gleaming in the dark. “If you're scared, you can always sleep in my bed, Blondie.”  
  
If nothing else, Enjolras was glad for Grantaire's ability to turn any situation into a joke. "No, I’m saying there is creepy stuff going on inside a room colloquially known as ‘the Suicide Room’.”  
  
Grantaire scoffed and rolled over to go back to sleep. "You should have been a drama major."  
  
Neither Grantaire nor Enjolras heard the window next door again for the rest of the night. However, the next morning when Enjolras was on his way to class he could clearly see from outside that both windows in the corner room were now wide open.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras watched the windows on room 1832 for an entire week but they remained open. Occasionally at night he thought he could hear a noise next door liked marbles dropping and rolling across the floor. Since it never woke Grantaire up, he didn’t bother to say anything.  
  
One afternoon Enjolras was alone in the dorm editing notes on his laptop when he heard somebody knocking on the door.  
  
"Come in," he said, not looking up from the screen.  
  
A moment went by and then heard he heard the knocking again.  
  
Enjolras turned around, "Come-"  
  
The door to the hallway was wide open. He’d left it open on purpose since Courfeyrac was supposed to be stopping by. Enjolras heard the knocking again from behind him and literally jumped out of his chair.  
  
It had come from the other side of the room— the closet door. It was the closet that shared a wall with room 1832.  
  
Enjolras sighed and closed his laptop. "Grantaire, you're not funny."  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Grantaire, I swear to god, I'm going to kill you one of these days,” he said, getting out of his chair.  
  
Silence. He walked over to the closet door and grasped the handle.  
  
"Grantaire, you’re a fucking-"  
  
"A fucking what?"  
  
Grantaire’s voice came from the doorway— behind Enjolras. He let go of the doorknob and stumbled back, wide-eyed.  
  
Noticing Enjolras' expression, Grantaire's eyes flickered with worry. “What's wrong?”  
  
“I—” Enjolras looked back at the closet, then back to Grantaire. “I thought you were hiding in the closet," he finished lamely.  
  
Grantaire frowned. "What? Why?"  
  
"Because someone was knocking on the door."  
  
"Jesus, Enjolras." Grantaire rubbed his forehead and walked over to the closet, throwing open the door. There was nothing there but clothes and boxes. He made a swipe of his arm as if to say _‘what now?’_  
  
"I swear—"  
  
"Enjolras, there's no one here."  
  
There was something about Grantaire's tone that made Enjolras want to stand his ground. "I know what I heard."  
  
“Seriously, Enjolras, you're smarter than this,” Grantaire said with an edge to his voice that only made Enjolras angrier.  
  
“Than what, Grantaire? You can't say that nothing is happening, because you _know_ it is.”  
  
They glared at each other until their little stand-off was interrupted by the timely arrival of Courfeyrac.  
  
One of the best things about Enjolras' friend was his ability to gauge a room. "Hi guys... What’s new?"  
  
Enjolras gave his roommate a hostile look. "There is strange things going on in that room next door. But that’s not new."  
  
“Which room? 1830? Or the empty one?" said Courfeyrac, frowning.  
  
"The _empty_ one." Grantaire emphasized.  
  
Courfeyrac shifted his weight uncomfortably. “1832. Yeah, I'm not surprised. That's the Suicide Room."  
  
"Right, we heard about the deaths." Enjolras sat down on his bed.  
  
"Yeah, it’s pretty fucked up. Three suicides all in one dorm room."  
  
"Three?" Enjolras raised his eyebrow. "We were told there were two."  
  
"Well there were a couple of people in the 70s,” said Courfeyrac, “and then some guy about ten years ago. He jumped out the window.”  
  
Enjolras could see Grantaire shudder at the thought. A falling death was probably the worst thing he could imagine. Admittedly, Enjolras wasn't a fan of the idea himself.  
  
"I heard there's something in that room." Courfeyrac said.  
  
"Like what?" Grantaire asked, unimpressed.  
  
"No one knows, but every year someone has a new theory, usually right around Halloween something gets published in the campus paper. Whatever is in there, though, it isn't friendly,” said Courfeyrac.  
  
"So, has anything happened to people in neighbouring rooms? Like this one?" asked Enjolras, ignoring the roll of Grantaire's eyes.  
  
"Nah, just 1832,” said Courfeyrac. “Honestly, I was surprised when I heard they were opening the north hall this year."  
  
"They told us we were the biggest incoming freshman class in twenty years." Enjolras said absentmindedly.  
  
"Yeah, I heard that, too. You know, you could always request a room change," Courfeyrac suggested as he sat down on Enjolras' bed.  
  
“No!” said Grantaire and Enjolras at the same time, a little too loudly and a little too quickly. Enjolras looked at Grantaire, shocked. Somehow Grantaire looked ever more so.  
  
There was a moment of silence before Enjolras continued, ignoring Courfeyrac's shit-eating grin, “I've got a lot of assessment coming up and I really don't have time to be lugging my stuff all over campus.”  
  
If they requested to change rooms it would be virtually impossible for them to end up as roommates again, which, honestly, Enjolras wanted to avoid. Maybe Grantaire felt the same way. But, then again, Grantaire didn't seem to believe anything odd was happening, so there was a chance he just wanted to avoid the hassle.  
  
“Of course,” said Courfeyrac, still grinning. “At least you'll have a good story to tell after you graduate.”  
  
Enjolras looked back at the closet one last time. “These aren't the kind of stories I want to tell.”

 

* * *

 

A few days later Enjolras woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone whispering. He looked over at Grantaire, who, surprisingly, was already staring back at him with wide eyes. He slowly brought a finger to his lips.  
  
Enjolras listened intently, trying to hear what the voice was saying and where it was coming from, but couldn't understand even one word. He got out of his bed and tiptoed over to Grantaire's. The whispering was definitely louder over there, but then he shared a wall with room 1832. Enjolras listened harder.  
  
_'...never...taken...mouths...of fools...'_  
  
_What the hell?_ Grantaire leaned over and put his ear up to the wall. The whispers suddenly stopped and Enjolras leaned closer.  
  
Suddenly there was a loud bang from the other side. “Fuck!” Grantaire immediately recoiled and clutched his ear in pain.  
  
Someone was in there. Suddenly, Enjolras was more angry than he was scared. He threw open their door and stomped over to the supposedly empty supply room. He banged on the door loudly, not caring who else he woke up.  
  
"Are you kidding me?!” he yelled at the door. “Come out of that fucking room!"  
  
Silence. And then the doorknob started to turn.  
  
Enjolras didn't know what he'd expected to happen, but it wasn't that. He backed up so far from the door that he ran into the opposite wall. When the handle had turned all the way down, something started to push from the other side. The door groaned loudly but the locks held.  
  
He held his breath until the pressure on the door subsided and the handle slowly returned to its normal position.  
  
Enjolras noticed Grantaire peaking his head out of our room. He held up his hands as if to say _what happened?_  
  
"Someone thinks they're funny." Enjolras answered out loud. Grantaire shook his head and disappeared back into their room.  
  
Enjolras knelt down on the floor and brought his head down to the carpet, peering under the door crack. It was the first time he had seen into the corner room.  
  
Room 1832 was definitely a supply closet. There were chairs stacked along one wall and bed frames along the other. A few rotting mattresses were piled under one of the windows and a thick layer of dust covered everything in the room. The windows were absolutely huge, which was something you couldn’t really tell by looking up at the building. There were open as always and Enjolras could definitely see how someone could easily climb through them to the outside ledge.  
  
The room didn't look like it had been disturbed in a couple of decades which sent a shudder wracking through Enjolras' body.  
  
The moonlight, which had been providing enough light to see into the room, suddenly vanished and he saw only pitch black inside. Enjolras blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his night vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, a large, yellow eye was looking back at him, only a few inches away from his face on the other side of the door.  
  
Enjolras screamed and woke up half the dorm.

 

* * *

 

In Enjolras' mind at least, there was no denying that things were escalating. The next morning he put in dorm change request with Resident Services and hoped for the best. Grantaire followed suit. Enjolras also made Grantaire promise that he would never be alone in their dorm at night. Either they both spent the night at home or neither of them did. More often then not, Enjolras would sleep on Courfeyrac's couch while Grantaire stayed with a girl called Eponine. Enjolras could see Grantaire thought it was ridiculous, but he was glad he went along with it anyway.  
  
One morning Enjolras went back to their room early to get a head start on packing; when the transfers came through he wanted to be out as fast as possible. He had just started putting away some of his lesser used books when he heard footsteps outside his door. His heart leapt into his mouth as he saw the doorknob turn, but was immediately relieved when Grantaire stumbled into the room looking less-than-sober. Since they had handed in their transfer requests, Grantaire had been drinking a lot, even by his standards.  
  
Grantaire face lit up for a brief second when he saw Enjolras, but it it quickly clouded when he noticed Enjolras' suitcase.  
  
“Maybe you should just invest in some garlic,” Grantaire said sarcastically. “Oh, sorry, that's vampires.”  
  
Enjolras sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have to deal with 'mean drunk' Grantaire. It was way too early for that.  
  
“Are you really going to deny that strange things have been happening?”  
  
“I'm going to deny the room next to us is fucking haunted.”  
  
“Well what other explanation _is_ there?” Enjolras muttered.  
  
“God Enjolras, just listen to yourself. What do you think happened? A couple of students got bullied into suicide so now their vengeful spirits are bound to that room for eternity? Is it cursed by voodoo?” Grantaire paused his tirade to gasp mockingly. “Is this place _actually_ built on an ancient Native American burial ground?”  
  
“I don't _know,_ but—” Enjolras tried to explain, but Grantaire cut him off sharply.  
  
“Didn't anyone ever tell you ghosts aren't real? Grow up.”  
  
Enjolras stared at Grantaire, shocked. He honestly didn't know if he was more hurt or angry. It was probably a tie.  
  
“Well, maybe unexplained noises and hallucinations are a normal occurrence when you're constantly drunk, but they're not for the rest of us,” Enjolras snapped back.  
  
_Fuck._ He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, and even more so when he saw the hurt in Grantaire's eyes.  
  
“Shit, Grantaire, I—” he started, taking a step towards his roommate, who immediately backed off.  
  
“It's fine. It won't even matter soon,” Grantaire muttered, almost inaudibly, as he walked towards the door, “since we won't be here for much longer.”  
  
There was a beat of silence before Enjolras slumped against the wall and put his head in his hands. On top of everything, now Grantaire hated him. He felt like he wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.  
  
Eventually Enjolras got up. He already wanted to find Grantaire and apologize, but he didn't have the words yet. Grantaire probably wanted some space anyway.  
  
Not wanting to be in the room alone, he decided to head to resident Services to check the status of their transfers. When he got there he was greeted at the desk by a person with braided ginger hair and an ethereal smile.  
Already exhausted, Enjolras made his way to Resident Service, where he was greeted at the desk by a person with braided ginger hair and an ethereal smile. When Enjolras handed them his student ID, recognition sparked in their eyes.  
  
“You’re the one trying to move out of 1831, aren’t you?” they said.  
  
“Y-yeah, one of them. How’d you know?” Enjolras stuttered, caught off-guard.  
  
“Sorry,” the person smiled apologetically, “I saw your file cross my desk a few days ago.May I ask why you are trying to transfer rooms?”  
  
Enjolras sighed. He was tired. He was beaten down and didn’t have the energy to think of a lie. “Because shit is going on in the empty room next door and it’s really freaking u— me out. Noises, whispers, knocking, the other night I saw someone—”  
  
“You saw someone?” the person interrupted suddenly. “In room 1832?”  
  
“Yes. I looked under the door. There was definitely someone in there.” Enjolras was surprised that this stranger seemed to believe him.  
  
The person narrowed their eyes for a moment, and then nodded. “Your rooms aren’t ready yet, but I’ve pushed them through as a priority. For right now you’re stuck, though,” the person frowned, like they were sincerely sorry. “There just isn’t anywhere else to put you.”  
  
Enjolras sighed. He’d figured as much.  
  
“I’m Jehan,” they continued, and then suddenly dropped their voice. “I’ve actually done a lot of research on the suicides in that room and I think I can help you. Or at the very least offer some insight.”  
  
“Really?” Enjolras asked, a little breathless. _Finally, some answers._  
  
“Absolutely. I’ll be back to my dorm by 4 today, if you want to come over. I'll give you my number."  
  
"Thanks,” Enjolras said as they exchanged numbers. “Really, thank you.  
  
“See you at 4.” Jehan said, and smiled.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras was early, but so was Jehan. When he told his story, Jehan wasn’t afraid to interrupt with questions, though their queries didn’t betray their thoughts.  
  
When he was finished Jehan leaned back in their chair and sighed deeply. “I knew about all the rumours, but I always hoped they were exaggerated.”  
  
“I can assure you – everything I’ve told you is absolutely true,” said Enjolras.  
  
“I believe you,” said Jehan, which made Enjolras feel slightly better. “And how is it now? When you’re there?”  
  
“We aren’t ever there at night, but during the day I've heard scratching on the wall, really quiet whispering and sometimes I still hear the window opening and closing. In broad daylight. Every time I look up from the street the windows to 1832 are open, though.”  
  
Jehan nodded, deep in thought. “Well, for the record, I don’t think you’re in any danger. There's not much that it can do beyond where it's been bound to. You just need to stay out of room 1832.”  
  
Enjolras snorted, “yeah, I wouldn't worry about that.”  
  
Jehan shook their head. "I believe that you believe that. But this thing, whatever it is, it's tricky. Manipulative. A _liar_. And it's smarter than you."  
  
"I'll try not to be offended by that,” said Enjolras.  
  
"You shouldn't be,” Jehan replied earnestly.  
  
“What do you think it is?” Enjolras asked, voice quiet.  
  
“Something very old and very evil.”  
  
Enjolras regarded them skeptically and then let his eyes wander around the room. He hadn’t really noticed the décor when he came in, but to say Jehan had an interest in the occult was an understatement. Their room was covered in all manner of crystals and candles and plants. Enjolras even spotted a skull, which he prayed wasn't real. He didn't know Jehan very well yet, but he got the feeling it was.  
  
"I can't see any situation where I would be compelled to enter that room,” Enjolras eventually replied.  
  
"I know, but you have to be prepared that there may come a time when you have to make a _decision_ about entering that room. Whatever we're dealing with, it’s already killed five people.”  
  
"Five?” asked Enjolras, mouth gaping. “We only heard there was three."  
  
"Yeah, well, not everyone is inclined to do the level of research that I do. Let’s see, there was a girl named Fantine in 1961 – she jumped out the window. She was the very first. And then one in 1968 - he jumped, too. Another girl in 1975, she hung herself. Another girl who jumped in 1979. And then recently a boy in 1992 - he hung himself."  
  
"Five suicides,” Enjolras repeated, a little dazed. “How could the university still let people live in there?”  
  
Jehan began to absentmindedly pet one of the many potted plants in their room. Enjolras didn't say anything. "They don’t, apparently. That’s why it’s a supply room.”  
  
“What about back in the 60's?” Enjolras could not believe that nothing had been done.  
  
“Well, every few years, once everyone who would remember had graduated, the room would be reassigned. This was all before the internet, so incoming students had no idea. But after that last one in '92 they closed the entire north hall of the 8th floor and built more rooms onto the south hall."  
  
Enjolras sigh. "So, this....thing— what does it want?"  
  
Jehan shrugged. "Chaos. Death. Souls. Who knows? No one even knows what it _is_."  
  
"Okay, so what _do_ we know?" Enjolras asked, rubbing his temples. He was so goddamn tired.  
  
Jehan gently laid a hand on Enjolras' shoulder, then got up to make them both tea. It made him smile. If nothing else, Enjolras thought, and least he got to meet Jehan because of this.  
  
"We know that it's somehow bound to that room though it seems to have minimal influence just outside of it,” Jehan said from across the room We know that everyone who ever died was alone at the time. And we know that it's a trickster— that's what we know."  
  
It wasn’t enough. “Why do you think they do it?” Enjolras said, looking straight out of Jehan's window. They were on the 1st floor of their building. Close to the ground. Grantaire would like this room, Enjolras thought. Grantaire would like Jehan.  
  
“The victims?” Enjolras nodded, and he heard Jehan sigh from the kitchenette. “All I know is what’s rumoured to be in the evidence files. All the suicides were found with pictures or writings that were considered ‘unspeakable’ at the time. They contained horrible, evil things that would make you physically sick to read or see, they say.”  
  
“And these people, they drew them?” Enjolras asked, turning to look at Jehan. “They wrote that stuff?”  
  
“Yes.” Jehan sat back down and handed Enjolras his tea. It was chamomile. “Whatever is in that room drove them mad,” they added softly.  
  
Enjolras froze, just before taking a sip. “That’s terrifying.”  
  
Jehan gave a small nod, and they both drank their tea in silence for a few moments.  
  
“Have you guys considered getting somebody to bless the room?"  
  
"Jesus,” Enjolras muttered.  
  
"Well you'll have a hard time getting him, but perhaps some other sort of holy person,” Jehan said with a small, wry smile  
  
"Do you really think an exorcism would work?" Even after living through what he had for the past few months, Enjolras had trouble shaking the horror movie preconceptions.  
  
Jehan shrugged. "Perhaps. The rumour in the 70s was that this all started with a Ouija board game gone wrong in 1961."  
  
Enjolras gave them a look. “Those things are mass produced by toy companies.”  
  
"Not in the 60s they weren't,” Jehan said, with a slight gleam to their eyes which told Enjolras he did not want to ask. “But it's just a rumour. The only person on campus who would know is Mr. Fauchelevent in Admin. I've tried to talk to him before but he refuses to see me."  
  
Enjolras sat up a little straighter."Did he go here in 1961?"  
  
"Yes. And he was staying in your building."  
  
"We need to talk to him. I need this to stop. My grades are dropping because I can't study. I can't even sleep in my own room. And my roomma—" Enjolras paused. His roommate hated him. Enjolras couldn't blame that on room 1832, he did that himself. “I just want this to end.”  
  
Jehan gave him a knowing nod. "I suppose we can try to chase him down on campus."  
  
“Can we talk to him tomorrow?" Enjolras asked, feeling much more hopeful that he did that morning.  
  
Jehan didn't seem to share his optimism as they stood up to collect their tea cups. "We can try.”

 

* * *

 

Mr. Fauchelevent wouldn't see them that day, or the next. They tried to catch him on his lunch hour and then again while he was leaving work but he got around them every time. It was soon clear that the old man was actively avoiding them.  
  
Enjolras hadn't spoken to Grantaire since the fight. He hadn't even seen him, as they continued to sleep in other dorms. He wanted to talk to Grantaire, to apologize, but he still had no idea what he could say to make things right.  
  
Things would be better once they moved out, he reasoned. If they weren't fighting over 1832, they could go back to how they were. Enjolras just had to wait until then.  
  
Enjolras went back to the room twice a day— once in the morning and once in the afternoon. Usually the other room was silent, but that didn’t make him feel better. He could always sense something on the other side of the wall, somehow watching him.  
  
It felt like the calm before the storm.  
  
The night before Halloween, Enjolras came back to the dorm to shower in the evening, much later than usual. He'd gotten a text from Eponine that afternoon, who'd informed him that she and Grantaire were going to visit her family, so Enjolras knew he'd be there alone.  
  
He showered down the hall in the safety of the bathrooms and then walked back to 1831 to change. He was supposed to meet Combeferre and Courfeyrac to head out to a party, and he wanted to get out of there as quick as possible.  
  
The silence in the room was unnerving. Enjolras went to Grantaire's side of the room and started to flick through his vinyl collection to find something to play. As he was searching, he came across an album that made him pause. _Blondie_. Enjolras smiled to himself sadly as he lined up the needle.  
  
He got dressed and then stood in front of the mirror to dry his hair. Grantaire used to tease him about how much effort he put into it, but Enjolras didn't care. He was allowed to be a little vain about it. Humming along to the music, he flipped his head over and blow dried it upside down. When he flipped his head back up and shut off the blow-dryer he immediately noticed the silence in the room. But that wasn’t all he noticed.  
  
Enjolras wasn’t in his dorm anymore. Behind him was reflected the dusty bedframes and large open windows of room 1832. He spun around in a panic to find that he was actually standing in his own room. He looked back at the mirror to see that 1831 still reflected there.  
  
A slight movement behind him was all it took to make Enjolras bolt.  
  
He grabbed his wallet and phone and fled from the room, slamming the door behind him. On the elevator ride down he called Jehan.  
  
"I can't do it anymore," he said when they picked up. "I can’t go back in that room, again. I can’t ever go back.”  
  
“Enjolras, calm down. What happened?”  
  
Enjolras told them the story as he waited impatiently for the elevator to hit ground. He just wanted to be out of that building.  
  
"What do you want to do?" they asked.  
  
"I need to talk to someone who knows what is going on,” Enjolras said, frustrated. “Is Mr. Fauchelevent the only person we know was here in 1961?"  
  
"The only one I know of. Maybe we can get him on his way in tomorrow morning? We'll just corner him and refuse to move until he tells us something. He comes in at 6:30 according to the schedule I have,” Jehan said.  
  
Enjolras nodded to himself, "I have a class at 7:30 but I'll blow it off." It was a small price to pay if he could finally get some answers.  
  
“Okay. See you then,"Jehan said as they hung up.  
  
Enjloras wasn’t usually much for parties, but he was glad he was going to one that night. As soon as he got there he asked Courfeyrac to get him a drink. Since he wasn’t usually much of a drinker, Combeferre gave him a raised eyebrow. Enjolras and Courfeyrac had made pact to tell him as little about what had been going on as possible. Enjolras had a feeling he still know more than he let on, but both he and Courfeyrac felt better if Combeferre and his inquisitive mind didn't get involved.  
  
One look from Enjolras was all that it took for Courfeyrac to understand that something had gone on in the room, and he made him a vodka and soda. It was the first of many.  
  
Around midnight Enjolras went to have a cigarette and checked his phone. He had a voicemail from Grantaire, left at 11:04pm. He drew in a breath and stared at his phone for a full minute, heart racing, before playing the message. Grantaire sounded drunk again, but only slightly.  
  
_"Hey Enjolras. I ran into a friend of Eponine's tonight, Montparnasse, and he told me that his 'gang' or whatever were planning to spend the night in the Suicide Room for Halloween. I guess that's a fun thing to do for some people, I don't know. Anyway, I just thought I should let you know. And listen...I'm really sorry about the other day. I was just—”_  
  
There was a pause in the recording as he heard Grantaire take a shaky breath.  
  
_“I was just upset that you wanted to move out so badly, and I didn't want you to go. But that's no excuse, I was being an ass and I want you to know that I don't think you're stupid or anything like that. Even if I don't believe in...whatever you think is going on, I believe in you. So, yeah, I'm sorry. And I miss—"_  
  
Enjolras ended the voicemail. He suddenly felt very drunk, very overwhelmed, and very not prepared to deal with his emotions. He stood for a minute to try and clear his head. When that failed, he went to find Courfeyrac to see if they could go home.  
  
Enjolras' dreams were filled with Grantaire that night.

 

* * *

 

At 6am the next morning, Jehan was already waiting for him with a black coffee in hand.  
  
"I figured you'd need this," they smiled.  
  
Enjolras smiled gratefully in return. "How'd you know?"  
  
Jehan laughed. "Your texts were a little all over the place."  
  
"I texted you last night?" Shit, he hoped they were to only one to receive a drunk message.  
  
"Yeah, at about 1. You told me about some people planning to stay in 1832?”  
  
"Oh, God, yeah." Honestly, Enjolras had forgotten about that part.  
  
"We should stop them if we can,” said Jehan. “Remember how I told you that it's crafty? Maybe the point of messing with you was to make 1832 provocative— to seduce people into going inside. No one has been in that room for years, can you imagine how hungry that thing is?”  
  
"Do you think they're really at risk?" Enjolras ask, burning his tongue on the too-hot coffee.  
  
"Yes. Do you remember any names? I might be able to locate them with the Student Services system and talk them out of it.”  
  
Enjolras had to think hard before anything came to mind. “I think Eponine's friend was called Montparnasse?”  
  
“Montparnasse...” Jehan repeated to themself. “Alright, once we're done here I'll try to find him. It will be bad if they actually go through with it. The _only_ thing they have going for them is that all of the victims so far have been alone at the time of their deaths."  
  
Enjolras considered that. He was glad he and Grantaire were always together when they were in the room at night. "So, it'll be less powerful with all of them there?"  
  
"Theoretically, yes” Jehan said. “We would know a lot more if we knew what it was, and we can't know what it is without knowing how it got here. That is why we need Mr. Fauchelevent."  
  
"What time is he supposed to get here?" Enjolras asked, checking his watch.  
  
"About twenty minutes ago," Jehan said, grimly.  
  
It was another half an hour before they resigned themselves to the fact that Mr. Fauchelevent had snuck around them again. They went to the front office, hoping to beg again for an appointment with him anyway.  
  
The woman at the Admin desk regarded them coldly. “Mr. Fauchelevent isn't coming in today. Or any other day for that matter. He quit yesterday. Looks like you won’t be harassing him anymore."  
  
"We weren't harassing him,” Enjolras insisted. “We just desperately needed to talk to him."  
  
“We still do,” added Jehan.  
  
"Well you won’t get any of his personal information from me," she said snidely and walked away.  
  
They made their way back out of the office as Enjolras fumed. "What the fuck do we do now?"  
  
"Without Mr. Fauchelevent there's nothing left to do."  
  
Enjolras ran his hands through his hair. "Jehan, fuck, I can't go back into that room.”  
  
"Well,” Jehan said with a wry smile, “then I guess it’s good your transfers came through."  
  
Enjolras spun around to face them, not knowing whether to laugh or cry  
  
Jehan laughed at his reaction. "Yep, I got the notice when I checked my work email this morning. You're both moving to different buildings, but you're moving."  
  
"Thank God.” Enjolras felt a twang of sadness at the thought of not living with Grantaire, but that was no longer a priority. As long as they were both safely away from that nightmare, it would be fine. He was just glad it was all going to be over soon.  
  
"I thought you'd be happy about that. I also convinced my boss not to assign anyone else to room 1831,” Jehan added. “The only thing is you won’t be able to move until Monday."  
  
"I can last through the weekend.” Only two more days. “I have to tell Grantaire."  
  
Enjolras opened his phone to pull up Grantaire's number, but his attention was caught by the red ‘1’ badge over the voicemail logo. He hit play. It was the rest of the message from last night.  
  
_"—you. Anyway, I can't stay at Eponine's tonight because she needs room for her brother and sister, so I'm just going to head home. I’m drunk enough to sleep through any bullshit from next door. If...if you don't still hate me I think we should go have a coffee and talk about some stuff. If that's okay with you.”_  
  
The message ended. The flutter in Enjolras' stomach was quickly drowned by a nauseous wave of worry. It must have shown on his face because Jehan gave him a questioning look.  
  
"Grantaire spent the night in our dorm."  
  
Jehan cringed.  
  
"He's safe though, right?" Enjolras asked, trying to calm himself.  
  
Jehan nodded. "As long as he doesn't go into 1832."  
  
"He won't.” Enjolras thought of the large windows of the corner room that were always open. Even if Grantaire didn't believe in paranormal activity, the mere thought of those windows would keep him the hell out of that room.  
  
"Good.” Jehan thought for a moment, “it's still too early for me to start looking for Montparnasse. Do you want to go look for theology books in the library? It's pretty much our only lead at the moment. "  
  
“Sure," Enjolras shrugged. He didn't have another class until 10 and he wanted to take his mind off Grantaire.  
  
' _If you don't still hate me.'_ That should've been his line. How could Grantaire think, even for a second, that Enjolras hated him? He needed to figure out what exactly he was going to say to Grantaire before he saw him again. Enjolras didn't want to fuck it up again— he couldn't.  
  
The little old lady who sat behind the library's checkout desk must have been 1,000 years old. Ms. Zéphine's eyes were small and watery and her skin looked like it was melting off of her skull. Still, she was nice and knowledgeable and she sent Enjolras and Jehan in the right direction for books on demonology, though she gave them a curious look as she did.  
  
There wasn’t much. They read everything they could but nothing was relevant. They returned to her desk 30 minutes later.  
  
"Ah, do you have anything on the occult?" Jehan ventured.  
  
"The occult? Ah..." Her voice trailed off. "Yes, I do. Over there to the left of the reference section.”  
  
"I don't think she likes the look of us," Jehan whispered after they thanked her and left the desk.  
  
"Our look or our subject matter?" Enjolras suggested.  
  
"Probably neither," Jehan smiled.  
  
Within the hour they were back up at her desk having struck out again. They could tell she was getting annoyed as her eyes narrowed suspiciously at us as they approached.  
  
"Ah, sorry, do you know where we could find something on séances or Ouija boards or-"  
  
"Now listen.” Ms. Zéphine stood up from her desk and looked over her glasses at us. “I really hope this is for class."  
  
"It is," Enjolras said.  
  
"It's not," Jehan answered simultaneously. They and Enjolras exchanged a look. "It's personal research.”  
  
"Research?” Ms. Zéphine repeated. “What kind of research?"  
  
"Look, we're not going to mess with a Ouija board or anything we just—" Enjolras said.  
  
"Good," Ms. Zéphine smoothed her pleated pants and sat back down. "Because I can't have that sort of thing going on here again."  
  
" _Again?_ " Jehan latched on.  
  
The older woman suddenly looked very uncomfortable and started fidgeting with a stack of books on her desk. “We may have something on séances in-”  
  
"Ms. Zéphine, we’re researching what happened in 1961,” Jehan interrupted.  
  
“And also what’s been happening there ever since,” Enjolras added  
  
"Well, it's no secret, is it? A student committed suicide in that room. Dreadful but not unheard of on a university campus,” Ms. Zéphine replied, almost automatically.  
  
"Five students." Enjolras corrected her.  
  
"But you know that, right?” Jehan was suddenly talking very fast. “Because you sound like you’re well versed in this story. Please, tell us how this started and we might be able to end it."  
  
"End it?" Ms. Zéphine's voice became quieter but more concentrated. "Don’t be so arrogant, young man. You can't end it. People have always died in that room and they always will. There is no end to it so you’d best stay far away from it."  
  
Enjolras could feel the frustration rising in his voice. "But maybe if we knew how this all started—"  
  
"It started just as you think it did,” she all but snapped. “But everyone that was involved is either very old or very dead by now. Just stay away from that room. Concentrate on your studies."  
  
Enjolras leaned over her desk. "Well, I'd love to but they assigned my friend and me to the room next door. Maybe you can forget about all the suicides but we can’t. It won't let us."  
  
"Young man, I never forget." Ms. Zéphine'svoice was even quieter now. "My friend Fantaine was the very first to be killed in that room. She was my very best friend and not a night goes by that I don't imagine her wiggling out of that tiny window, standing upon the cold ledge in her bare feet and jumping off the 8th floor of that building."  
  
Enjolras looked away, ashamed. God, he could be an ass sometimes.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Jehan said in a gentle voice.  
  
"Yes, well these are old wounds, my dear. Now, I suggest you request a room reassignment immediately. No one should be living on the 8th floor of that building. And that’s all I’m going to tell you about it” she said, putting an end to the conversation.  
  
Jehan sighed but resigned themself to a nod. They wouldn’t learn anything more here. Still, it was quite a breakthrough— at least they had _some_ information now.  
  
Jehan walked away and Enjolras made to follow them, but his feet wouldn’t move. Something was bothering him— a small yet poignant word had been buried in Ms. Zéphine's story; a word that suddenly seemed very important.  
  
"Eh, Ms. Zéphine,” Enjolras asked the tired, old woman at the desk, “Why did you refer to the windows in 1832 tiny? Because I’ve seen those windows and they’re huge, like 5 feet tall.”  
  
"Dear, you're thinking of the corner room, that’s the supply closet. Room 1832 is next door to that."  
  
"N-no," Enjolras stuttered, forcing the words out. “That's room 1831."  
  
"Yes, well, it is _now_. When they built the additional rooms on to the south hall they moved all the room numbers down.”  
  
Enjolas felt himself go cold. _No._  
  
"That sneaky fucker," Jehan whispered next to him, skin paling.  
  
"Grantaire."  
  
They took off across the campus at a dead run, witnessed only by the few bleary-eyed students on their way to morning classes. When the building finally came into view, Enjolras stumbled on the pavement as his blood turned to ice. From his vantage point he could clearly see the windows of the corner room were closed— the first and only time Enjolras had ever seen that way. The window to his room was open.  
  
They ran into the lobby, pushing past several freshman who had just gotten off the elevator. They hit 8 and watched the doors close more slowly than they ever had before. Enjolras leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breathing.  
  
"Jehan, how the fuck did this happen?" asked, desperate.  
  
"I don't know—”  
  
"He's been in there all night, Jehan. In our room. Alone,” Enjolras said, more to himself than Jehan. “Oh God, he's been all alone.”  
  
Jehan didn't respond.  
  
When the doors finally opened on floor 8, they saw a quiet, deserted hallway. Enjolras ran towards his room with Jehan hot on his heels. Rounding the corner, he threw open the door, hoping it wasn’t locked. And it wasn’t.  
  
Grantaire was there. He looked back at Enjolras and for one breathless moment, a cruel glimmer of hope crossed over his tear-streaked face. Enjolras could have sworn he heard his own name from Grantaire's lips.  
  
Enjolras reached out his had, but it was too late. The next second, Grantaire leaned forward ever so slightly, and he was gone.  
  
He screamed the entire way down.  
  
Jehan ran to the ledge where Grantaire had just been while Enjolras stood motionless. They stuck their head out the window and looked down just as a different kind of screaming started from the bottom floor. Jehan closed their hand over their mouth and pulled their head back into the room as tears of shock ran down their ghost-white face.  
  
_This can't be happening._ The screaming from outside got louder as more people saw what had happened. He leaned back against the dresser and slumped to the floor, trembeling violently.  
  
A falling death. Grantaire never wanted a falling death.  
  
Enjolras absentmindedly picked up one of the pictures that were strewn all over the floor. It was a picture of Grantaire's mother. She was dead. Enjolras picked up another picture. It was Grantaire’s baby sister. She was dead, too. There were dozens of pictures just like it all over the floor— Grantaire has been busy last night. Grantaire was a talented artist, and Enjolras only saw a few before he was sick on the floor next to him.  
  
Jehan was standing in the doorway yelling something down the hall. Enjolras don't know what he was saying because all he could hear was a high pitched whine in the room. Suddenly, a piece of paper slid out from under the crack in the closet door and glided across the floor toward him. Enjolras picked it up and studied it for a moment.  
  
This was drawn by Grantaire too, but it wasn’t like the others. It was a picture of the closet from Enjolras' exact vantage point. In the drawing the door was cracked and there was something looking back from the darkness.  
  
Enjolras put the paper down and studied the closet. The door was cracked open just like it was in the picture. He squinted his eyes and tried to see inside. Just as he started to distinguish the defined lines of a long face looking back at him, Jehan pulled him to his feet.  
  
"We need to get out of here," Enjolras thought he heard them say.  
  
_We needed to get here sooner_.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras never went back into that room. His parents moved moved his things and he spent the rest of the semester in an apartment off campus. He transferred schools for his spring semester and finished his degree there.  
  
Every night Enjolras dreams of Grantaire pulling himself through the tiny window, shimmying out onto the cold ledge, standing up and knowing there’s nothing between his body and the terrifying abyss in front of him. Enjolras watches him look down eight stories to the black pavement below and realize, though not accept, his terrible fate. Enjolras sees the blind horror cross his familiar features. He hears his wildly pounding heart, desperately trying to race through every beat of the life he should have lived, and knowing it has only mere seconds.  
  
In his dreams, he never gets the chance to tell Grantaire that he's sorry. He never gets the chance to tell Grantaire how wonderful and clever and beautiful he thinks he is.He never gets the chance to say “I love you.”  
  
Enjolras watches Grantaire look back at him, and sees his heart break over what could've been. He knows Grantaire can see his break too.  
  
And then Enjolras watches him fall.

**Author's Note:**

> [Com send me hate on Tumblr](http://taye-x.tumblr.com)


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